CHAPTER II

THE STORY OF THE GREAT WAR

Amongst the long line of kings descended from Chandra, the Moon, who

reigned in Northern India, was Shantanu, with whom our narrative may

conveniently commence. This king was, like most of the sovereigns of

his house, a pious man and an able administrator, whose sway, we are

told, was owned _by the whole world_. He had two wives in succession,

first the goddess Ganga, afterwards Satyavati, and the story of his

loves is worth recording.

Strange as it may seem, his marriage with the lovely Ganga, the

divinity of the sacred river Ganges, resulted from a curse uttered

by one of those terrible saints, so common in Indian poetry, whose

irritability of temper seems to have been in direct proportion to

the importance of their austerities. The saint in question, Vasishta

by name, was once engaged in his devotions when a party of celestial

beings, known as Vasus, unwittingly passed between him and the rising

or setting sun. “Be born among men!” exclaimed the irate Rishi to the

unwelcome intruders, and his malediction, once uttered was, of course,

irrevocable.[56] Expelled from Heaven, these unfortunate Vasus were

met by the goddess Ganga to whom they explained their sad destiny,

imploring of her to become a woman, so that they might be born of her

and not of a mere mortal. The goddess who, on account of a slight

indiscretion on her part, was herself under the obligation of assuming

the human form, agreed to their proposal, and made choice of Shantanu

to be their father. The goddess promised the Vasus that as each one of

them was born of her, he should be thrown, as a mere infant, into the

water and destroyed, so that all might regain their celestial home as

speedily as possible. But Ganga stipulated that each one of the Vasus

should contribute an eighth part of his energy for the production of

a son who should be allowed to live his life on earth, but should

himself die childless. These preliminaries being settled amongst the

gods, behind the scenes as it were, the play had to be played out on

the terrestrial stage with men as the puppets. To this end Ganga took

an opportunity of presenting herself before Shantanu for the purpose

of captivating his heart,--no difficult task for the goddess. So,

one day as he was wandering along the banks of the Ganges, “he saw a

lovely maiden of blazing beauty and like unto another _Sree_ herself.

Of faultless and pearly teeth and decked with celestial ornaments, she

was attired in garments of fine texture, and resembled in splendour

the filaments of the lotus. And the monarch beholding that damsel

became surprised. With steadfast gaze he seemed to be drinking her

charms, but repeated draughts failed to quench his thirst. The damsel

also beholding the monarch of blazing splendour moving about in great

agitation, was moved herself, and experienced an affection for him. She

gazed and gazed and longed to gaze at him evermore. The monarch then in

soft words addressed her and said: ‘O thou slender-waisted one, beest

thou a goddess or the daughter of a Danava, beest thou of the race of

the Gandharvas, or Apsaras, beest thou of the Yakshas or of the Nagas

or beest thou of human origin, O thou of celestial beauty, I solicit

thee to be my wife.’”

This wooing, simple enough in form and very much to the point, was, we

need not say, entirely successful; the goddess without revealing her

identity, consenting at once to become the king’s wife, on condition

that she should be free to leave him the moment he interfered with

her actions or addressed an unkind word to her. The enamoured prince

readily agreed to these terms, and Ganga became his wife. Seven

beautiful children born of this union were, to the king’s intense

horror, thrown by their mother, each in its turn, into the waters of

the Ganges with the words “This is for thy good.” Shantanu’s dread of

losing the companionship of his lovely wife, of whom he was dotingly

fond, kept him tongue-tied even in presence of such enormities; but

when the eighth child was about to be destroyed like the others,

his paternal feelings could not be controlled, and he broke out in

remonstrance and upbraidings which saved his son’s life, but lost him

his wife’s society for ever. Ganga, with much dignity, revealed herself

to the king, explained to him the real circumstances of the case, and

the motives which had influenced her actions and, reminding him of

the stipulations of the contract between them, took a kind but final

farewell of the husband of so many years. She thereupon disappeared,

carrying the child away with her.

Later on, the river-goddess appeared once more to King Shantanu, and

made over to him his half-celestial son, a youth of the most wonderful

intellect, learning, strength and daring. This son, indifferently named

Ganga-datta and Deva-bratta, was eventually best-known as _Bhisma_, or

the _terrible_, for a reason to be explained immediately.

In the foregoing legend about the incarnations of the Vasus, we have

an instructive and interesting illustration of the ideas of the Hindus

with respect to the soul in man, which, as in this case, might be a

spirit from the celestial regions. We also learn how the poor mortal’s

destiny on earth is but the fulfilment of predestined events.

Shantanu, deserted by the goddess-queen, seems to have had a heart

ready for the reception of another love, and, as his romantic fortune

would have it, he was one day rambling on the banks of the Jumna when

his attention was attracted by a delicious perfume. To trace this

fragrance to its source the king roamed hither and thither through

the woods, “and, in the course of his rambles, he beheld a black-eyed

maiden of celestial beauty, the daughter of a fisherman.” In those

primitive times, when men carried their hearts on their sleeves and the

forms of social life were simple and natural, no tedious courtship was

necessary; so, “the king addressing her said: ‘Who art thou, and whose

daughter? What dost thou do here, O timid one?’ She answered, ‘Blest be

thou, I am the daughter of the chief of the fishermen. At his command

for religious merit I am engaged in rowing the passengers across this

river in my boat.’ And Shantanu beholding that maiden of celestial form

endued with beauty, amiableness and such fragrance, desired her for

wife. And repairing unto her father the king solicited his consent to

the proposed match.”

The fisherman was willing to bestow his daughter on the king, but only

on condition that the son born to her should occupy the throne to the

exclusion of all others. This was a difficulty that staggered the

king, for he could not find it in his heart to set aside Deva-bratta,

the glorious son of Ganga. The matter accordingly dropped, but his

disappointment was very great, and he could not conceal from the world

that there was something preying upon his mind. Deva-bratta, being

much concerned about Shantanu’s unhappiness, found out the cause of

it, and going to the father of the sweet-scented maiden, Satyavati, he

formally renounced his own right to the succession, and recorded a vow

of perpetual celibacy.

Upon this “the Apsaras and the gods with the tribes of the Rishis began

to rain down flowers from the firmament upon the head of Deva-bratta,

and exclaimed ‘This one is Bhisma’ (the terrible).”

Everything was now arranged to the satisfaction of the contracting

parties, and Satyavati, the ferry-girl, became the proud queen of

Bharatvarsha. But this beauteous and odoriferous damsel had already a

history, which, though unknown to the king her husband, may be unfolded

here.

In the discharge of her pious office of ferrying across the Jumna

those who desired it, the maiden on one occasion had as her companion

in the boat “the great and wise Rishi Parashara, foremost of all

virtuous men.” This illustrious saint, who seems to have had an eye for

a pretty wench, immediately made advances to the boat-girl. Dread of

her father, and a natural disinclination of being seen from the shore,

made Satyavati coy; but, on the other hand, she was also in terror of

the Rishi’s curse, in case she disobliged him. The sage Parashara was

not to be denied. He enveloped the boat in a mist, and, promising the

boat-girl that her virginity should be restored, and that a certain

fishy smell which emanated from her person should be changed into a

sweet perfume, had his way with her. The offspring of this union was

no other than the renowned Vyasa, who arranged the Vedas and wrote the

“Mahabharata,” and of whom we shall hear more very soon.

Satyavati by her union with King Shantanu became the mother of

two sons, Chitrangada and Vichitra-virya. The former was after a

short reign killed, _in a three years’ combat_, by the King of the

Gandharvas, and Vichitra-virya was placed on the throne; but being

a minor the kingdom was ruled by Bhisma, in subordination to Queen

Satyavati. When the king was old enough to be married Bhisma set about

finding a wife for him. Learning that the three lovely daughters of the

King of Kasi would elect husbands in a public _swayamvara_, or maiden’s

choice, he repaired thither and, acting in accordance with the lawless

customs of the times, carried the fair princesses off in his chariot,

challenging anyone and everyone to fight him for the coveted prize.

A desperate battle ensued, of the kind familiar to the reader of the

previous portion of this volume. Bhisma, alone and unaided, assailed by

ten thousand arrows at the same time, was able to check these missiles

in mid-air by showers of innumerable darts from his own bow, and after

prodigious slaughter effected the object he had in view.[57] Of the

three captured princesses one, named Amba, was allowed to go back to

her people, as she explained that she had fully made up her mind to

elect the King of Sanva for her husband, that he had given her his

heart, and that her father was willing. The Rajah, however, coldly

rejected Amba, on the ground that she had been in another man’s house;

so, after undergoing painful austerities, with the object of being

avenged for the humiliations she had suffered, the unhappy princess

immolated herself on the funeral pile. In her case the swayamvara was,

_it would appear, only intended to be a formal ceremony_. The other

two princesses became the wives of Vichitra-virya; but, after a short

reign, he died, leaving behind him no heirs of his body.

This failure of issue threatened the extinction of the Lunar dynasty.

But, according to the ideas of those primitive times, the deficiency

of heirs might still be supplied, for Vichitra-virya’s two widows,

Amvika and Amvalika, still survived, and some kinsman might raise up

seed to the dead man. Queen Satyavati pressed Bhisma to undertake the

duty, but he, unwittingly fulfilling his destiny, held his vow of

celibacy too sacred to be broken even in such a dynastic emergency. On

his refusal Satyavati thought of her son Vyasa as perpetuator of the

Lunar race, and the sage, nothing loth, undertook the family duty and

visited the widows in turn. Now this celebrated sage had, by reason

of his austerities, a terrible and repulsive appearance. The elder

widow, Amvika, shut her eyes when she saw him, as he approached in the

lamplight, and the son born of her was, in consequence, blind. The

other widow was so blanched with fear at the sight of the sage, that

the son she gave birth to was of quite a pale complexion. The blind

son was named Dhritarashtra, and the white one Pandu.[58]

Neither of these sons being perfect, Satyavati desired Vyasa to beget

yet another son. For this purpose he was to visit Amvika again;

but she, poor soul, had had enough of the wild-looking anchorite,

whose grim visage and strong odour had made a deep and disagreeable

impression upon her, so she sent a beautiful slave-girl to him in her

stead. The Sudra maiden made herself agreeable to the sage who was, of

course, too wise to be taken in by the attempted deception. “And when

he rose up to go away he addressed her and said ‘Amiable one, thou

shalt no longer be a slave. Thy child also shall be greatly fortunate

and virtuous and the foremost of all intelligent men on earth.’” This

third son of Vyasa was named Vidura, and, although the offspring of a

Sudra wench was, it seems, no other than the god of justice himself,

incarnate in human form, owing, as we might well guess, to the _potent

curse of a holy ascetic_. This is how it came about. The ascetic was

performing his penances under a vow of silence, when there came to

his asylum a band of robbers fleeing from the officers of justice.

They hid their booty and themselves in the asylum. The police officers

who were on their track came to the asylum and requested the hermit

to point out where the thieves had hidden themselves. The ascetic

vouchsafed no answer, but the officers themselves soon found both the

thieves and the stolen property. As an accomplice in the crime that had

been committed, the ascetic was apprehended and sentenced to death.

He was in due course impaled, but, even on the cruel stake which was

rending his body, he serenely devoted himself to contemplation. For

days he lived quietly upon the stake, a fact which was brought to the

king’s knowledge, and greatly alarmed him. He came in person to the

ascetic, addressed him with great humility, begged his forgiveness, and

ordered his immediate removal from the stake. All attempts to extract

the stake having failed, it was cut off at the surface of the body,

and the ascetic, apparently none the worse for this addition to his

internal economy, went about as usual, but he was by no means content.

Of the god of justice he demanded what crime he had committed which

entailed so heavy a punishment. The god explained that the ascetic had

once in his childhood pierced a little insect with a blade of grass,

hence his impalement. In the Rishi’s opinion the punishment was out of

all proportion to the offence, particularly as the Shastras exempted

children from responsibility for their actions, and, waxing wroth, he

uttered the following imprecation: “Thou shalt, therefore, O god of

justice, have to be born among men even in the Sudra order.”[59]

Dhritarashtra was set aside on account of his blindness, and Vidura on

account of his servile birth, so the _raj_ fell to Pandu, during whose

minority the country was governed by his uncle, Bhisma.[60]

Pandu became a great and celebrated rajah. He had two wives, Kunti

and Madri. The former, although very beautiful, had no suitors in her

maidenhood; so the king, her father, invited to his court the princes

and monarchs of the neighbouring countries, and desired Kunti to

choose her husband from amongst his guests. The princess attracted by

the appearance of Pandu who was there, approached him modestly, and

“quivering with emotion,” as the poet tells us, placed the nuptial

garland round his neck. In this romantic fashion Pandu got his first

wife. For the second, Madri, who was selected for him by Bhisma, he

had to pay a very considerable price in gold and precious stones,

elephants, horses and other things; for, it seems, it was the custom in

her family for the daughters to be disposed of for such price as could

be got for them.

After he had reigned a while, Pandu retired with his two wives into the

forests on the slopes of the Himalaya Mountains to indulge his love of

freedom and the chase.

One day while out hunting he discharged his arrows at two deer sporting

together. Now these, as ill luck would have it, were, in reality, a

Brahman sage and his wife. In the agonies of death the Brahman assumed

his proper form and, as we might expect, _cursed_ the unfortunate

Pandu, saying that he would assuredly die in the embrace of one of his

wives.

Up to this time Pandu had had no children, and owing to his dread of

the Brahman’s curse was cut off from any further hope of offspring.

Deeming it a most indispensable religious duty to have heirs, he

consulted the ascetics in the woods on the subject, saying: “Ye

ascetics I am not yet freed from the debt I owe to my (deceased)

ancestors! The best of men are born in this world to beget children

for discharging that debt. I would ask ye, should children be begotten

in my soil (upon my wives) as I myself was begotten in the soil of my

father by the eminent Rishi?”

The ascetics having given the king an answer in the affirmative, he

desired his wife, Kunti, “to raise up offspring from the seed of some

Brahman of high ascetic merit.” But Kunti had another resource to fall

back upon. It seems that in her maiden days she had pleased a Rishi

by her attentions, and he had taught her, as a reward, a _mantra_, or

spell, by the repetition of which she could cause any celestial being

she thought of to present himself to her and be obedient to her will,

whether he liked it or not. Of the efficacy of this spell Kunti had

already had practical experience, for in her early days she had, just

to test the value of the spell, compelled the attendance of Surya,

the sun-god, and had a son by him, named Karna, of whom we shall hear

again. Prudently omitting any mention of Surya and Karna, Kunti told

her husband of the _mantra_ she possessed, and, with his consent, had

three sons _for him_ by three different gods, viz., Yudhisthira by

Dharma,[61] Bhisma by Vayu, and Arjuna by Indra.

But Pandu wanted more sons, and persuaded Kunti to communicate the

spell to Madri who, greedy of offspring, summoned the twins Açwins to

her bed, and gave birth in due course to two sons, Nakula and Sahadeva.

These five sons, known as the five Pandavas, are the real heroes of the

great war which forms the main incident of the “Mahabharata.”

Pandu himself met with a tragic end. One day in lovely spring weather,

when wandering with his younger wife, Madri, through the pleasant

woodlands he, in a weak moment, yielded to his passions and, in

fulfilment of the Brahman’s curse, died in the arms of his wife, who,

in testimony of her affection for her husband, and on the ground that

she was his favourite wife, had herself burnt with his remains.[62]

The party opposed to the Pandavas, known as the Kauravas, consisted

primarily of the one hundred sons of Dhritarashtra, by his wife

Gandhari. Of course it was necessary that persons who had to play a

leading part in the poet’s story should come into the world in some

extraordinary manner, and equally necessary that a Rishi should have

a prominent share in the event. Gandhari appears to have been lucky

enough to please by her hospitalities the great ascetic Dwaipayana, and

he granted her the boon she asked, viz., one hundred sons, each equal

to her lord in strength and accomplishments. Instead of sons, however,

the queen gave birth to a shapeless mass of flesh and, in despair,

was about to throw it away, when the sage who, in his hermitage, knew

exactly what was transpiring at the palace, appeared unexpectedly on

the scene and, cutting the piece of flesh into one hundred and one

pieces, placed each separately in a pot full of clarified butter;

whence, in due time, one hundred sons and one daughter were taken out.

Of these hundred sons, four--Duryodhana, Dhusashana, Vikarna, and

Chittrasena--afterwards became prominent characters in the story of

this epic.

During the practical abdication of the throne by Pandu, Dhritarashtra

seems to have ruled the country; but Pandu’s _sons_, as the Pandavas

were considered to be, had a claim to the throne, and the surviving

widow of the ill-fated king proceeded at once to Hastinapur with

the five boys. A great number of ascetics accompanied them and,

having testified before Dhritarashtra and his court to the celestial

parentage of these sons of Kunti and Madri, vanished into thin air

before the eyes of all present. The young sons of Pandu were, after

this, well received by the blind old king, and took up their abode

with his wife, Gandhari, and his sons. But the cousins, if such they

can be called, could not live amicably together, and many feuds arose

between them. To such a pass did the bitterness of feeling between the

kinsmen come, that the eldest son of the blind king, jealous of the

strength of Bhima, cunningly drugged him, bound him hand and foot, and

then flung him into the Ganges. But Bhima did not perish. As he sank

through the water snakes attacked him, and the venom of their bites,

counteracting the effects of the drug he had swallowed, restored him to

consciousness. He immediately burst his bonds, and found that he had

descended to the city of the Serpent-king in the interior of the earth,

where he was hospitably entertained, and given a draught of nectar

which endowed him with the strength of _ten thousand elephants_. After

that he was carried by the Nagas from under the waters and restored

to the place whence he had been thrown into the river. On his return

to Hastinapur, Bhima related his adventures to his brothers, but was

cautioned to say nothing about the matter in the presence of his

cousins, so as not to awaken their suspicions.

In accordance with the warlike tastes of the times, all the young

princes, Dhritarashtra’s sons and nephews alike, were trained to arms

and instructed in the science of warfare by a famous Brahman preceptor,

named Drona, on condition that they would fight for him against

Draupada, Rajah of Panchala, with whom he had a feud of long standing.

This Drona, it is needless to say, was of extraordinary origin,

otherwise he would not have been preceptor to the princes. He was

the son of a Rishi, named Bharadvaja, but was not born of woman. The

Pandavas and their cousins had also another famous tutor, named Kripa,

who had sprung into existence from a clump of heather.

When the scions of the royal house of Pandu had been sufficiently

trained in the use of arms, their preceptor, Drona, arranged for an

exhibition of their skill before the chiefs and people of the Raj. An

auspicious day was fixed upon, and the people informed by proclamation

of the important function. It was a day of excitement and bustle in the

land of the Kurus; spectators flocked from far and near to witness the

royal assault-at-arms. The wealthier part of the visitors pitched their

tents near the arena, and others put up convenient stages from which to

view the events of the day. For the king and his courtiers a theatre

was erected “according to the rules laid down in the scriptures.” It

was constructed of gold, and adorned with strings of pearls and lapiz

lazuli. The ladies had a separate gallery to themselves, and came to

the fête gorgeously attired.

Amidst the blare of trumpets and the sound of drums, Drona, all in

white, his Brahmanical cord conspicuously displayed, entered the

arena attended by his son. The young princes followed in the order

of their ages. After some preliminary displays of dexterity in

archery and fencing, and of skill in horsemanship and the management

of war-chariots, a contest with maces came off between Duryodhana

and Bhima. They _roared_ at each other “like two mad elephants

contending for a female one,” and what was meant to be a sham fight

soon changed into a real combat. The princely competitors, actuated

by mutual animosity, charged each other “like infuriated elephants,”

and battered each other most vindictively with their ponderous maces.

This single combat caused great excitement amongst the spectators, who

took sides, and applauded their favourites. Drona had to interpose

between the heated combatants. He commanded the music to cease and,

to make a diversion, quickly brought forward Arjuna, clad in golden

mail, to display his inimitable skill in bowmanship. In this art,

the most important of the warlike arts in the India of those times,

Arjuna hopelessly surpassed all his rivals and, indeed, besides the

extraordinary skill he displayed, there was much to wonder at in his

performances, for “by the _Agneya_ weapon he created fire, and by

the _Varuna_ weapon he created water, and by the _Vayavya_ weapon he

created air, and by the _Paryanya_ weapon he created clouds, and by the

_Bhanma_ weapon he created land, and by the _Parvatya_ weapon mountains

came into being. And by the _Antardhyana_ weapon these were all made to

disappear.”

When the exhibition was nearly over a formidable champion thundered

at the gates of the arena. It was Karna, son of Kunti, already

mentioned, and, as became the offspring of the sun-god, an archer of

most wonderful skill. On being admitted, the tall and handsome Karna,

proudly arrayed in the glittering coat of mail in which he was born,

and the ear-rings which had similarly come into the world with him,

presented a dazzling and most striking appearance. He haughtily assured

Arjuna that he would perform before the multitude there assembled

feats that would excel all that had been exhibited that day. He even

expressed his eagerness for a single combat with the hero. The two

glorious sons of Kunti, unconscious of their relationship, appeared in

the lists; their respective fathers, Indra and Surya, anxiously watched

events from their positions in the welkin, and Kunti, as became a fond

mother, fainted away. At this juncture Kripa interposed, inquiring the

race and lineage of the newcomer. This action on Kripa’s part was,

apparently, only a device to avert the threatened fight. Duryodhana

was furious at this interruption, and, to remove any objection on the

score of difference of rank between the contending parties, raised

Karna on the spot to the Rajahship of Anga not, however, without the

indispensable aid of the Brahmans, their _mantras_ and ceremonies. All

this took time; and more time was wasted in altercations in which Bhima

took a prominent part, insulting Karna in an outrageous fashion, to

the great indignation of Duryodhana. Presently the sun went down over

the scene, and the royal tournament with its exciting incidents was

necessarily brought to an end.

The princes having thus publicly proved that they were capable of

bearing arms, Drona called upon them to fulfil their part of the terms

upon which he had educated them. Joint or common action amongst the

cousins being out of the question, the Kauravas and their friends went

forth alone and attacked the Rajah of Panchala. They were defeated

and compelled to retreat. Then the Pandavas marched out against their

tutor’s enemy, and after a bloody conflict of the usual kind,--in

which arrows fly from each single bow like flights of locusts; in

which thousands of elephants, horses and men are slain; in which the

principal combatants, although pierced with scores of shafts, seem none

the worse for them--the Pandavas met with complete success, bringing

the defeated Rajah along with them as a prisoner. He was afterwards

liberated at the expense of half his kingdom, which was appropriated by

the successful Drona.

Fresh causes of jealousy arose between the cousins. Yudhisthira’s claim

to the succession could not be set aside, as the people were all in

favour of him; so he was appointed by the blind king, very reluctantly,

we may presume, to the office of Yuva-Rajah, or heir-apparent. The

Pandavas, elated by their success against the King of Panchala, and

confident in themselves, commenced a series of unprovoked attacks upon

the neighbouring princes. Of course the Pandavas performed prodigies

of valour in these invasions. For example, two of them with a single

chariot, “subjugated all the kings of the East backed by ten thousand

chariots.”

These great achievements inflamed the jealousy of even the blind king

to such a pitch that he disclosed his feelings to Kanika, his Brahman

counsellor, “well skilled in the science of politics.” As became a sage

politician, Kanika advised his master to put the obnoxious Pandavas

out of the way as soon as possible. He explained to Dhritarashtra his

obvious duty in such a case, and impressed upon his sovereign such

important maxims of state policy as the following: “When thy foe is in

thy power destroy him by every means, open or secret: Do not show him

any mercy although he seeketh thy protection.... If thy son, friend,

brother, father or even spiritual preceptor, becometh thy foe, thou

shouldst, if desirous of prosperity, slay him without scruples. By

curses and incantations, by gift of wealth, by poison, or by deception

the foe should be slain. He should never be neglected from disdain.”

His counsels fell on only too willing ears. Dhritarashtra was ready

to do his _duty_ as thus explained to him, but thought it best to act

warily. Duryodhana suggested that the Pandavas should be induced to go

to Varanavartha,[63] and there be disposed of.

Praises of this place were cunningly circulated in Dhritarashtra’s

court, and the king suggested to the Pandavas that they might go there

for a holiday. Suspicions naturally arose in the minds of the sons of

Pandu; but there seemed to be no way of eluding the king’s proposal.

Their departure was a day of public mourning in Hastinapur, and, before

they went, Vidura found an opportunity to warn them of a plot which

had been formed to burn them to death in a house made of combustible

materials, which would be erected for their reception at Varanavartha.

To be forewarned was to be forearmed, and the Pandavas determined

to be even with their enemies. Purochana, a confidential agent of

Duryodhana’s, preceded them on their journey, and began in all haste

to construct for their reception at Varanavartha and for their ultimate

destruction by fire, the famous _house of lac_. What sort of mansion

this was we may judge from Yudhisthira’s opinion of it, expressed

confidentially to Bhima, after a critical inspection of the edifice,

on their arrival at their destination. “The enemy, it is evident, by

the aid of trusted artists, well skilled in the construction of houses,

have finely built this mansion, after procuring hemp, resin, heath,

straw and bamboos, all soaked in clarified butter.”

To escape destruction should their house be set on fire, the Pandavas

secretly caused a subterranean passage to be made leading out of the

dwelling. The work was executed by a trusty messenger, well skilled in

mining, who had been sent to their assistance by Vidura. One evening

Kunti fed a large number of Brahmans at this combustible house of

hers. After the guests were gone, the Pandavas, assuring themselves

that their enemy, Purochana, was fast asleep, quietly fastened the

doors of the house, and themselves set fire to it in several places.

As if impelled by _Fate_, a Nishada woman with her five sons had

come, uninvited guests, to Kunti’s feast, and, becoming intoxicated

with the wine of which they had partaken too freely, lay drunk

upon the premises. These six drunk and incapable persons perished

with Purochana, and their remains, found by the citizens after the

conflagration had been extinguished, left no doubt in men’s minds that

Kunti and her sons had all been miserably burnt to death.[64]

The five Pandava brothers _disguised as Brahmans_, accompanied by their

mother, Kunti, made their escape into the forests and commenced a long

course of wanderings, in which they experienced much hardship and many

adventures. Often were they wearied out by their long marches, all

except the giant Bhima who, on such occasions, would carry the whole

family on his back and shoulders or under his arms. Of this episode

Bhima is indisputably the hero. It is he who forces his way by giant

strength through the almost impenetrable forests, treading down trees

and creepers to make a passage for himself and his burden. It is he

who kills the terrible Rakshasa bent upon devouring Kunti and her

sons. It is Bhima with whom the cannibal’s sister falls ardently in

love and whom, after strange adventurous journeys through the air, she

eventually makes the happy father of a son, Ghatotkacha, afterwards a

famous champion in the final struggles between the rival parties. It is

Bhima again who, when they sojourned in Ekachakra (the inhabitants of

which town had to pay a daily toll of a live human being for the table

of a fierce Rakshasa), killed the monster single-handed, and delivered

the trembling citizens from the gloomy horror under which they had been

living.[65]

During their residence at Ekachakra, where they lived disguised as

Brahmans, the Pandavas were visited by the famous Rishi Vyasa, who,

it will be remembered, was really their grandfather, and also the

compiler of the “Mahabharata” itself. By him they were informed that

the lovely princess, Krishná, or Draupadi, the daughter of the King of

the Panchalas, was about to hold a swayamvara, or “self choice,” at

which she would select a husband. Vyasa also told them the wonderful

history of this Draupadi, and thereby greatly excited their interest

and curiosity in the handsome maiden, who was no ordinary girl, but had

sprung into existence, mature and beautiful, in the midst of a great

sacrifice for offspring, offered by Draupada, King of the Panchalas.

When, as has already been narrated, Draupada was defeated by Drona,

and deprived by him of half his kingdom, a spirit of revenge took

complete possession of the discomfited monarch, and his one thought

was to find a means of compassing the overthrow of his successful foe,

the redoubtable son of Bharadvaja. How could this object be attained

when there was not a single one amongst the heroes of Panchala to cope

with Drona, that mightiest of bowmen and possessor of the terrible

_Brahma-weapon_? In such a difficulty the Indian chieftain naturally

built his hopes upon those great national resources--the assistance of

potent Brahmans, and the efficacy of properly conducted sacrifices. For

the handsome fee of ten thousand kine the king succeeded in inducing a

couple of learned Brahmans, who had long been engaged in austerities,

to undertake a sacrifice for the express purpose of obtaining a son

who should be invincible in war and capable of slaying Drona. The

result of the ceremonies and sacrifices conducted by the learned and

not too scrupulous Brahmans was completely successful, for out of the

sacrificial flames which they had kindled emerged a stately youth,

encased in full armour, with a crown on his head, and bearing a bow and

arrows in his hands. He was wonderful to behold, and appeared upon the

scene uttering loud roars. This was Dhrista-dyumna. After him appeared

a beautiful maiden. “Her eyes were black, and large as lotus leaves,

her complexion was dark, and her locks were blue and curly. Her nails

were beautifully convex and bright as burnished copper, her eyebrows

were fair, and her bosom was deep.... Her body emitted a fragrance as

that of a blue lotus, perceivable from a distance of full two miles.”

This damsel, because she was so dark complexioned, received the name

of Krishná (the dark), but is more commonly known as Draupadi. Being

the most lovely woman in the world at that time, her swayamvara would

naturally attract the chiefs and princes of all nations, and not chiefs

and princes only, but also Brahmans in crowds, ready to graciously

accept the presents which the liberality or ostentation of the

high-born suitors might prompt them to distribute on the occasion.

The young Pandavas were much excited about the coming event, and set

off without delay to witness and, if possible, to take part in the

proceedings of lovely Draupadi’s swayamvara. When they arrived at

Panchala they took up their abode in the house of a humble potter, and,

still disguised as Brahmans, supported themselves by begging alms of

the people.

A great amphitheatre covered with a canopy was prepared for the

important occasion. It was erected on a level plain, surrounded by

lofty seven-storeyed palaces covered with gold, set with diamonds

and adorned with garlands of fragrant flowers. In these costly

mansions, “perfectly white and resembling the cloud-kissing peaks

of Kailasa,” were lodged the kings and princes who had been invited

to the swayamvara by the father of Draupadi. Commodious platforms

were constructed all round the amphitheatre for the convenience of

less august visitors, and on one of these platforms the Pandavas

found places for themselves in the company of a number of Brahmans.

Public rejoicings, music, dancing, and performances of various kinds,

extending over sixteen days, served as a prelude to the business of the

great assembly. At one end of the plain a tall pole was erected, and

on the top of this pole was fixed a golden fish, and below the golden

fish a _chakra_, or wheel, kept whirling round and round. The condition

of the swayamvara was that each competitor should be provided with a

particular bow and five selected arrows. If he succeeded with these in

discharging an arrow through the _chakra_, and in striking the eye of

the golden fish behind it, he should be the husband of the dark beauty

of Panchala.

On the sixteenth day, when the meeting-place was quite full, Draupadi

entered the amphitheatre richly attired and adorned with ornaments.

In her hands she carried a golden dish with the usual offerings to

Agni, the god of fire, and a garland of flowers for the neck of the

happy man who should win her in the competition. After the offerings

had been cast into the sacrificial fire and the appropriate _mantras_

recited by the Brahmans appointed to perform the duty, Dhrista-dyumna

led his sister before the assembly and, in a loud voice, proclaimed the

conditions of the competition.

Amongst the innumerable suitors present there, we need only mention

Duryodhana and Karna, who are already known to the reader.

The sight of the beautiful Draupadi fired the ardour of the assembled

princes. One after the other they came forward to essay the feat but,

though they tugged and strained and sweated till their faces were

distorted and their clothes disordered, they were not even able to

string the mighty bow. Karna at length stepped up and stringing the bow

with ease placed an arrow for the trial. But seeing Karna, Draupadi

loudly exclaimed: “I will not elect a Suta for my lord.”[66] “Then

Karna, laughing in vexation and casting a glance on the sun, threw

aside the bow already drawn to a circle.” Other competitors, princes of

great renown, still pressed forward to try what they could do, but met

with no success. When all the Kshatriya lords had retired discomfited,

Arjuna advanced from his place amongst the Brahmans and, amidst a great

deal of clamour, strung the bow and, with unerring skill, shot the

mark. A tumultuous shout arose from the assembled multitude; there was

a great uproar in the firmament, and the gods showered down flowers

upon the happy hero. “And Krishná beholding the mark shot and beholding

Partha (Arjuna) also like unto Indra himself, who had shot the mark,

was filled with joy, and approached the son of Kunti with a white robe

and a garland of flowers.” The Kshatriya Rajahs and chiefs were wild

at their defeat by a Brahman, and although they were prepared to admit

that their kingdoms, and they themselves also, existed solely for the

benefit of the Brahmans, they demurred to such a conclusion of the

swayamvara of a Kshatriya princess, and made a fierce attack upon King

Draupada, who was willing to hand Draupadi over to the victor. Arjuna

rushed at once to the king’s rescue, accompanied by the redoubtable

Bhima, armed with nothing less than an uprooted tree and, though a

desperate fight ensued, the Pandava brothers succeeded, partly through

the mediation of Krishna--whom we here meet for the first time--in

leaving the amphitheatre, closely followed by beautiful Draupadi.

Then those illustrious “sons of Pretha returning to the potter’s abode,

approached their mother. And those first of men represented Yájnaseni

(Draupadi) unto their mother as the _alms_ they had obtained that

day. And Kunti who was there within the room and saw not her sons

replied, saying, ‘Enjoy ye all (what ye have obtained).’” The moment

after she beheld Krishná, and then she said, “O, what have I said?”

However, Draupadi was fated to have five husbands for, in a previous

existence on the earth, she had, on five different occasions, asked

the gods for a good husband as the reward of the austerities she

practised. Yudhisthira knew this. It had been revealed to him by Vyasa.

So when the matter was referred to him, as head of the family, he said

simply: “The auspicious Draupadi shall be the common wife of us all;”

a decision which pleased his brothers considerably for, as the poet

tells us, “The sons of Pandu then hearing those words of their eldest

brother, began to revolve them in their minds in great cheerfulness.”

Their life in the potter’s house was simplicity itself. Krishná

prepared the food for the family and served it out to the several

members, taking only a little for herself and eating it last of all. At

night all seven slept on a bed of _kusa_ grass covered with deerskins.

The brothers lay side by side, their mother along the line of their

heads, and Krishná “along the line of their feet as their nether

pillow.”

When Draupadi, nothing loth, had gone away with the handsome victor,

the King of Panchala was naturally very anxious to find out who the

successful suitor really was. By a little artful eavesdropping on

the part of Dhrista-dyumna, the secret became known to him, and he

rejoiced to find what a good match Krishná had made. Arjuna caused

great preparations to be undertaken for the wedding. He did not quite

like the proposed fivefold arrangement; but was induced to consent to

it, after Vyasa himself had explained to him how polyandry was not in

itself sinful, and how this particular marriage had been pre-arranged

by _Destiny_. It only remained for Draupadi to be led round the sacred

fire on five successive days by the five brothers in turn. After the

five weddings the King of the Panchalas made valuable presents to

Draupadi’s husbands, including gold, chariots, horses and elephants,

“and he also gave them a hundred female servants, all in the prime of

youth and decked in costly robes and ornaments and floral wreaths.”

Krishna also bestowed upon the happy Pandavas presents of various

sorts,--costly robes, soft blankets, golden ornaments, and superb

vessels set with gems and diamonds. And, in addition to these, “many

elephants and horses, crores of gold coins, and thousands of young and

beautiful female servants brought from various countries.”[67]

The alliance thus formed with the Rajah of Penchala made a great

change in the fortunes of the Pandavas, and induced their cousins at

Hastinapur to make overtures of friendship to them. The negotiations

led, at length, to an amicable arrangement, by which the Kauravas

continued to remain and rule at Hastinapur, while the Pandavas were

assisted to settle themselves in Khandava-prasta on the banks of the

Jumna. The portion of the country assigned to the sons of Pandu “was an

unreclaimed desert,” but they soon built a gorgeous and wonderful city

there, Indraprasta,[68] “surrounded by a trench as wide as the sea,

and by walls reaching high into the heavens ... and the gateways that

protected the town were high as the Mandara Mountain and massy as the

clouds.”

At Indraprasta the brothers lived happily with their wife, having,

upon the advice of a Rishi, arranged “that when one of them would be

sitting with Draupadi, if any other of the four would see that one

thus, he (the intruder) must retire into the forest for twelve years,

passing his days as a Brahmachárin.” One day a Brahman, who had been

robbed of his cattle, came in great haste to the king’s palace and,

lamenting bitterly, accused the Pandavas of allowing him to be deprived

of his property by contemptible thieves. Arjuna, recognizing his duty

to afford the Brahman redress and protection, resolved to pursue the

robbers; but his arms were in the room where Draupadi was sitting with

Yudhisthira. Balancing against each other the sin of allowing the

Brahman’s wrongs to go unavenged, and the breach of decorum involved

in entering the chamber when his brother was engaged with Draupadi,

he deliberately chose the latter, notwithstanding the consequences of

their mutual agreement on that point. Once in possession of his arms he

pursued the thieves, recovered the stolen property, and restored it to

the Brahman; but on returning to the palace he voluntarily determined

to go into exile in fulfilment of the terms of the compact about

Draupadi.

Arjuna’s twelve years of exile were full of adventure. At the spot

where the Ganges enters the plains (Hurdwar) he stepped into the

sacred stream for a bath, was drawn down into the water by Ulupi, the

daughter of the King of the Nagas, and taken by her to the beautiful

mansion of her father. The love-sick Ulupi courted Arjuna so warmly

that he could not find it in his heart to resist her solicitations. In

return, Ulupi bestowed upon Arjuna the gift of invisibility in water.

From one sacred stream to another, from one holy place to another,

wandered the willing exile, giving away much wealth to the Brahmans.

At length he travelled as far as Munipur. Now the King of Munipur

had a beautiful daughter named Chitrángadá. Arjuna saw, and fell

desperately in love with the fair maiden. He asked her hand in marriage

and obtained it, on condition that the first son born of the union

should be considered to belong to the King of Munipur, in order to

succeed him on the throne of that country. Three years did Arjuna

live at Munipur, but when a son was born to Chitrángadá he took an

affectionate farewell of her, and set out again upon his wanderings.

Visiting many lands and experiencing strange adventures, he at length

arrived at Dwarka, on the shore of the Southern Sea, the capital of his

kinsman, Krishna, King of the Yadhavas. A casual sight of Subhadrá,

the handsome sister of Krishna, made a strong and visible impression

upon the susceptible heart of Arjuna. Krishna perceived the effect

produced by his sister’s charms, and was not indisposed to an alliance

with the Pandava hero. Should Subhadrá, now of age, hold a swayamvara

or maiden’s choice? Krishna thought the result of such a plan might be

disappointing; for who could say what choice a capricious girl might

make! So, he artfully suggested to Arjuna to carry off the maiden by

force, since “in the case of Kshatriyas that are brave, a forcible

abduction for purposes of marriage is applauded, as the learned have

said.” Arjuna, who was ready to achieve anything achievable by man

to obtain “that girl of sweet smiles,” soon put the suggestion into

practice, to the great indignation of the Yadhava chiefs; but Krishna

threw oil upon the troubled waters, and everything was amicably settled

in the end, the wedding being celebrated on a magnificent scale. After

the prescribed twelve years of exile were completed, Arjuna returned

to Khandava-prasta with Subhadrá, and was loyally welcomed by all. But

when he visited Draupadi she evinced very natural signs of jealousy,

and recommended Arjuna to go to the daughter of the Satwata race.

However he coaxed her over, and when Subhadrá, dressed in red silk,

but in the simple fashion of a cow-keeper, approached and bowed down

to Draupadi, saying, “I am thy maid,” her resentful feelings were

disarmed; she rose hastily and embraced her young rival with the

significant greeting: “Let thy husband be without a foe.”

Krishna, the Prince of Dwarka, now visited his brother-in-law in great

state, and brought with him a vast store of valuable gifts, amongst

which we need only notice “a thousand damsels well skilled in assisting

at the operations of bathing and at drinking.” No light recommendations

apparently, for it would seem that in those good old times the practice

of drinking wine was quite common; as we are told by the poet, in

connection with a great picnic, given by Arjuna and Krishna, that

“the women of the party, all of full rotund hips and fine deep bosoms

and handsome eyes, and gait unsteady with wine, began to sport there

at the command of Krishna and Partha (Arjuna). And some amongst the

women sported as they liked in the woods, and some in the waters, and

some within the mansions as directed by Partha and Govinda (Krishna).

And Draupadi and Subhadrá, exhilarated with wine, began to give away

unto the women so sporting their costly robes and ornaments. And some

amongst those women began to dance in joy, and some began to sing, and

some amongst them began to laugh and jest, and some to drink excellent

wines.”

The picnic referred to was succeeded by a terrible conflict, in which

Krishna and Arjuna, in the interests of Agni, opposed Indra and his

celestial hosts. Agni, the god of fire, having drunk a continuous

stream of clarified butter for twelve years, during the sacrifice of

King Swetaki, was satiated with his greasy fare, had become pale and

could not shine as before. To recover his health a change of diet was

necessary for the god, and he, therefore, wished to devour, with his

flaming tongues, the forest of Khandava in that land; but whenever he

attempted to do this, Indra opposed him, quenching the flames raised by

the fire-god with torrents of rain from above. However, Arjuna, in his

wonderful way, “covered the forest of Khandava with innumerable arrows,

like the moon covering the atmosphere with a thick fog,” and in this

manner protected the burning forest from Indra’s drenching showers. A

fierce battle with Indra, backed by Asuras, Gandharvas, Yakshas, and

a host of others, resulted in the complete victory of Arjuna and his

kinsman, in the total consumption of the forest by fire, and the almost

wholesale destruction of all its inhabitants of every kind.

Only six of the dwellers in the forest of Khandava were allowed to

escape with their lives. Aswa-Sena, Maya, and four birds called

_Sharugakos_. Now Maya was the chief architect of the Danavas and, in

gratitude for his preservation, built a wonderful _Sabha_, or hall, for

the Pandavas, the most beautiful structure of its kind in the whole

world.

One day, while the Pandavas were holding their court in this hall, the

celestial Rishi Narada visited them, and the subject of conversation

having turned upon the splendours of Maya’s handiwork, the Rishi

described the courts of Indra, Yama, Varuna, and Kuvera, as also “the

assembly-house of the grandsire, that house which none can describe,

saying, it is such, for within a moment it assumes a different form

that language fails to paint.”

Within the narrow limits I have allowed myself, these highly

interesting pictures of the different heavens of the Hindus cannot be

reproduced; but their more salient features must not be passed over,

since they are highly characteristic of the ideas of the people who

conceived them. The hall of Brahma, the Supreme Being, the Creator of

everything, is an indescribable mansion, peopled by a most august, if

somewhat shadowy, assembly. Here, in the presence of the grandsire

of all, attend, in their personified forms, the various forces and

phenomena of nature, such as time and space, heat and air, day and

night, the months and seasons, the years and _Yugas_. Here also are

ever to be found religion, joy, tranquillity, aversion and asceticism;

here wisdom, intelligence and fame; here the four Vedas, sacrifices

and _mantras_. Here also perpetually attend hymns, dramas, songs and

stories, together with all the sciences, in the company of countless

celestial Rishis and all the deities.

The courts of the other gods, which are less solemn and sedate, always

resound with strains of delightful vocal and instrumental music, and

are enlivened with the graceful dancing of the charming Apsaras and

Gandharvas. But it is Yama’s _Sabha_ that most concerns the human race,

for it is there that, for the most part, the disembodied spirits of

men are to be found. “Bright as burnished gold, that assembly-house

covers an area of much more than a hundred _Yojanas_. Possessed of

the splendour of the sun it yieldeth everything that one may desire.

Neither very cool nor very hot, it delighteth the heart. In that

assembly-house there is neither grief nor weakness of age, neither

hunger nor thirst. Nothing disagreeable findeth a place there, nor

wretchedness or distress. There can be no fatigue or any kind of evil

feelings there. Every object of desire, celestial or human, is to be

found in that mansion. And all kinds of enjoyable articles, as also

of sweet juicy, agreeable, and delicious edibles in profusion, that

are licked, sucked and drunk, are there. And the floral wreaths in

that mansion are of the most delicious fragrance, and the trees that

stand around it yield fruits that are desired of them. And there are

both cold and hot waters, and these are sweet and agreeable. And in

that mansion many royal sages of great sanctity and Brahmana sages

also of great purity wait upon and worship Yama, the son Vivaswat....

And Agastya and Mataiya and Kála and Mrityu (Death), performers of

sacrifices, and Siddhas and many Yogins; the _Pitris_ ... the wheel of

time and the illustrious conveyer himself of the sacrificial butter;

all sinners among human beings, as also that have died during the

winter solstice; those officers of Yama who have been appointed to

count the allotted days of everybody and everything, the _Shingshapa_,

_Palasha_, _Kasha_, and _Kusha_, trees and plants, in their embodied

forms:--these all wait upon and worship the god of justice in that

assembly-house of his.... And many illustrious Gandharvas and many

Apsaras fill every part of that mansion with music, both instrumental

and vocal, and with the sounds of laughter and dance. And excellent

perfumes, and sweet sounds, and garlands of celestial flowers always

contribute to make that mansion supremely blest. And hundreds of

thousands of virtuous persons of celestial beauty and great wisdom

always wait upon and worship the illustrious lord of created beings in

that assembly-house.”[69]

During the period in the history of the Pandavas which we have now

reached, Draupadi bore five sons[70] to her five husbands, and Subhadrá

also became the mother of the afterwards famous Abhimanyu.

In their new home the Pandavas had flourished greatly, and having

established an undisputed supremacy over all the chieftains in their

immediate neighbourhood, they thought of performing a _rajasuya_ or

sacrifice of triumph, a sort of formal declaration of imperial claims.

But there was a serious difficulty in the way of the accomplishment

of this proud function; for there reigned at Mathura, the capital of

Magadha, a powerful king, named Jarásandha who, having himself already

brought no less than _eighty-six_ kings under his dominion, was not, by

any means, likely to acknowledge the superiority of Yudhisthira. Hence

it followed that, until Jarásandha were overcome, the _rajasuya_ could

not be undertaken.

To conquer or otherwise dispose of Jarásandha was, therefore, the

problem before the sons of Pandu. Their kinsman, Krishna, “foremost

of personages whose strength consists in wisdom and policy,” was on a

visit to Indraprasta, and willingly accompanied Arjuna and Bhima (all

three disguised as Brahmans) to Mathura. Once in the presence of their

formidable rival they threw off the mask and made themselves known to

him. Krishna upbraided Jarásandha with his cruel purpose of offering

up the vanquished kings, whom he held in captivity, as sacrifices to

the god Rudra and, without hesitation, intimated that he and his

companions had come to Mathura expressly to slay him. In addressing

the King of Magadha Krishna gave expression to sentiments which remind

one forcibly of the warlike ideas of the Norsemen. “Know,” said he

“O bull among men, that Kshatriyas engage in battle with heaven in

view.... Study of Vedas, great fame, ascetic penances, and death in

battle are all acts that lead to heaven. The attainment of heaven by

the other three acts may be uncertain. But death in battle hath that

for its certain consequence.” The challenge thus given was accepted

in the chivalrous spirit of the times. A single and public combat

was arranged between Bhima and Jarásandha. Crowds of all classes of

citizens, including women, were present to see the event. Both heroes

fought without weapons. The encounter, which was carried on with great

ferocity, lasted thirteen days without intermission for rest or food,

and finally resulted in Jarásandha’s backbone being broken against

Bhima’s knee. “And the roar of the Pandava, mingling with that of

Jarásandha while he was being broken on Bhima’s knee, caused a loud

uproar that struck fear into the heart of every creature.” After

Jarásandha had been slain, Krishna released his royal prisoners, and

engaged them to assist Yudhisthira in the celebration of the proposed

_rajasuya_ sacrifice.

As soon as the occurrences at Mathura had been made known to

Yudhisthira, he despatched his four brothers to the four points of

the compass to collect tribute from all the Rajahs of the world.[71]

These expeditions were fruitful of wonderful adventures, but we have

not space to recount them here, though we must not omit to note, in

passing, that when those unprovoked aggressors, the sons of Pandu,

vanquished any prince who offered resistance, he at once and, as a

matter of course, joined the victors with his forces, and helped to

subjugate the unfortunate king upon whose territories the advancing

tide of invasion next broke.[72]

As a sequel to the conquests of the Pandavas, a crowd of Brahmans,

with scores of Rajahs, flocked to Indraprasta from all parts of the

country, and were right royally lodged and entertained by Yudhisthira’s

commands. The various duties demanded by the occasion were intrusted

to the different members of the family and to intimate friends of the

Pandavas. Dhusashana was appointed to cater for the visitors; Kripa

to look after the gold and gems; Duryodhana to receive the tributes;

and Krishna, at his own desire, was engaged in washing the feet of the

Brahmans.

Arrangements for the _rajasuya_ were pushed forward, and all was

hubbub and excitement in Indraprasta. The Brahman sages found the

occasion a grand one for disputations with one another, and they

took full advantage of it; but a suppressed fire of discontent and

jealousy was smouldering in the hearts of the assembled Rajahs,

which was set ablaze by a proposal to regard Krishna as the foremost

chieftain present. Angry and contemptuous objections were made to his

being given precedence in the assembly. The wise Bhisma, however,

fully aware who and what his kinsman really was, solemnly assured the

malcontents that “Krishna is the origin of the universe, and that in

which the universe is to dissolve. Indeed this universe of mobile and

immobile creatures has sprung into existence for Krishna only. He is

the unmanifest primal matter, the Creator, the eternal and beyond (the

ken of) all creatures.” Notwithstanding this testimony the opposition

did not cease. Indeed Shishupala, the mighty King of Chedi, ridiculed

the old man’s words, heaped contempt upon Krishna, and eventually, with

many taunts and jeers, challenged him to fight. “And while Shishupala

was speaking thus, the exalted slayer of Madhu thought in his mind

of the discus that humbleth the pride of the Asuras. And as soon as

the discus came into his hands the illustrious one skilled in speech

loudly uttered these words! ‘Listen, ye lords of earth, why this one

had hitherto been pardoned by me. Asked by his mother, a hundred

offences (of his) were to be pardoned by me. Even this was the boon

she had asked and even this I granted her. That number, ye kings, hath

become full. I shall now slay him in your presence, ye monarchs.’

Having said this, the chief of the Yadus, that slayer of all foes, in

anger instantly cut off the head of the ruler of Chedi by means of his

discus. And the mighty-armed one fell down like a cliff struck with

thunder. And the assembled kings then beheld a fierce energy, like

unto the sun in the sky, issue out of the body of the King of Chedi.

And that energy then adored Krishna, possessed of eyes like lotus

leaves and worshipped of all the worlds, and entered his body. And the

kings beholding the energy which entered that mighty-armed chief of

men regarded it as wonderful.” And indeed they might well do so, yet

the poet tells us that many of the chiefs were excited to fierce if

suppressed anger by what they had witnessed.[73]

At length the great sacrifice for imperial sway was successfully

accomplished, and with the greatest imaginable splendour. After which

the subject Rajahs were courteously dismissed to their respective

principalities.

But the grandeur and wealth displayed on this occasion served to

re-awaken or inflame the old jealousy of the Kauravas, particularly of

Duryodhana, who had been the unwilling collector of the vast tribute

poured into Yudhisthira’s treasury at Indraprasta. Despairing of

injuring their rivals by open and fair means, the Kauravas determined

to resort once more to artifice, having, as usual, discussed the

pros and cons of the question from all points of view; for these

old-time heroes of India were nothing if not argumentative.[74] They

built a sumptuous reception-hall, “a crystal-arched palace,” full two

miles square, decorated with gold and lapis lazuli, with a thousand

columns and one hundred gates. Hither they invited a large number of

royal friends, but the principal guests were the Pandavas, whom they

challenged to a friendly gambling match. Yudhisthira well understood

and clearly stated the objectionable features of gambling, and was

fully aware that the game of chance he was challenged to take part

in would not be fairly conducted. However, as a Kshatriya, he could

not decline the match, and so sat down to play against Shakuni, Queen

Gandhari’s brother, a skilful and unscrupulous dice-player, who was

backed by Duryodhana.

In a succession of games Yudhisthira lost all his money and jewels, all

his cattle, jewelled chariots, war-elephants, slaves and slave-girls,

and then the whole of the kingdom of the Pandavas. Driven to despair,

the luckless gambler would persist in continuing to play while there

remained anything at all to stake. But his success was no better than

before, and he staked and lost his brothers, one by one, then himself

and, lastly, the joint-wife of the Pandavas, the famous Draupadi.

An exciting and most sensational scene followed. To complete the

humiliation of their rivals, the successful gamesters ordered Draupadi

to be conducted into the gaming hall. She astutely objected that,

as Yudhisthira had first staked and lost himself, and thus entered

a servile condition before he played for her, he was not legally

competent to dispose of her person; but her protest was unheeded.

Being dressed at the time in a single robe of cloth, a simple _saree_

apparently, she refused to appear in that attire before the assembled

chiefs. But Dhusashana, with brutal unceremoniousness, dragged her into

the great hall by the hair of her head, treating her, in the presence

of her husbands, with the familiar license which they were accustomed

to indulge in when dealing with their female slaves. Dhusashana even

went so far as to attempt to strip beautiful Draupadi in the presence

of the assembly. In her trouble she prayed aloud to Krishna for help,

invoking him as the lover of the _gopis_ (milkmaids), the dweller

in Dwarka, the soul of the universe, the Creator of all things. And

Krishna, hearing her prayer, miraculously multiplied her garments as

fast as they were removed. Yet notwithstanding these manifestations

of divine protection, Duryodhana, not to be behind in affronting

his rivals, indecently bared his left thigh and showed it to the

modest Draupadi, who, as she said, had never since the occasion of

her swayamvara been beheld by an assembly like this. These gross

indignities, it may be well imagined, must have driven the Pandavas

frantic. Why then did they not dare to interpose? Because they were

bound by the acts of their elder brother; and submission to authority

seems ever to have been the highest virtue of these Hindu heroes! Only

Bhima, with an impetuosity which was not to be restrained even by

respect for his elder brother, took a solemn oath before the assembly

that, for the deeds that they had done that day, he would break the

thigh of Duryodhana and drink the blood of Dhusashana, or forfeit his

hopes of heaven. Both these vows he accomplished in the great war to be

subsequently referred to.

While this sensational scene was being enacted, a jackal howled in the

_homa_-chamber of King Dhritarashtra. Terrified by this omen of dire

evil, the old king began to reprove Duryodhana for his conduct; and,

addressing Draupadi, in respectful and affectionate terms, desired her

to ask of him any boon she pleased. Without hesitation she demanded at

once that Yudhisthira should be freed from slavery. A second boon being

offered her, she solicited the freedom of her other husbands; but when

she was given the option of a third boon she declined to accept the

favour, saying: “O king, these my husbands, freed from the wretched

state of bondage, will be able to achieve prosperity by their own

virtuous acts.” However, Dhritarashtra dismissed the Pandavas in honour

to their own city, desiring them to think no more of the unpleasant

episode of the gambling match.

The crestfallen visitors hastened to take advantage of the blind king’s

permission to depart, and they set out at once on their homeward

journey, revolving in their minds many a scheme of future vengeance.

The Kauravas, however, felt, and justly too, that after what had passed

that day the matter could not be thus easily settled. They knew their

outraged cousins would burn to wipe out the insults they had received,

and so they entreated the blind old king, their father, to recall the

Pandavas and induce them to play a final game, upon the issue of which

one party or the other should go into voluntary exile. The Pandavas

were brought back to try the fortune of the dice once more, and it was

arranged that the losing side should go into exile, spending twelve

years in the forests and one additional year in any city they might

find convenient; and that if the exiles were discovered, during the

time of their concealment in the city, they would have to go through

another exile of thirteen years. The game upon which so much hung was

duly played, with the result that the Pandavas had to exchange the

splendour and luxury of the palace for the simple life and scanty fare

of the forest, with which they had already become acquainted in their

earlier wanderings.

When Dhusashana saw that Sakuni had won the game, he danced about for

joy, and cried out: “Now is established the Raj of Duryodhana!” But

Bhima said: “Be not elated with joy, but remember my words. The day

will come when I shall drink your blood, or never attain to regions

of blessedness!” The Pandavas seeing that they had lost their wager,

threw off their garments, put on deerskins, and prepared to depart into

the forest with their joint-wife, their mother Kunti, and their priest

Dhaumya; but Vidura representing to Yudhisthira that Kunti was, by

reason of her years, unfitted to bear the hardships of exile, proposed

that she should be left to his care, and this kindly offer was readily

accepted. From the assembly the sons of Pandu went out, hanging down

their heads with shame, and covering their faces with their garments.

Only Bhima, always more impulsive than his brothers, threw out his

long, mighty arms, and glared at the Kauravas furiously, while Draupadi

spread her long black hair over her face and wept bitterly. The blind

old king regarded the departure of his nephews with grave misgivings,

for he felt that inevitable destruction awaited him and his at the

hands of the Pandavas. All this, he well knew, was the work of his son

Duryodhana, constrained by destiny, since “the whole universe moveth at

the will of the Creator under the controlling influence of fate:” and,

as Sanjaya said, in allusion to Duryodhana, “the gods first deprive

that man of his reason unto whom they send defeat and disgrace.”

Surely it is only a Hindu bard who could imagine such sudden and

complete reverses of fortune and such tame, almost abject, acquiescence

in the circumstances of the hour, on the part of such redoubtable

heroes as the sons of Pandu! Nor is it comprehensible why exile to the

forest should always entail the hermit garb and utter destitution.

That King Yudhisthira felt his altered position bitterly is evident

from the words he addressed to the Brahmans who accompanied him and his

brothers out of the city. “Robbed,” he says, “of our prosperity and

kingdom, robbed of everything, we are about to enter the deep woods in

sorrow: depending for our food on fruits and roots and the produce of

the chase. The forest too is full of dangers and abounds with reptiles

and beasts of prey.” However his anticipations were worse than the

reality. By the advice of a Brahman the exiled monarch made an appeal

to the sun for help, addressing him in such terms as these. “Thou art,

O sun, the eye of the universe! Thou art the soul of all corporeal

existences! Thou art the origin of all things.... Thou art called

Indra, thou art Vishnu, thou art Brahma, thou art Prajapati! Thou

art fire and thou art the subtle mind! and thou art the lord and the

eternal Brahma.”[75] In response to this appeal the sun-god appeared to

the king, and presented him with a copper cooking-vessel, which proved

to be an inexhaustible source of fruits and roots, meat and vegetables

to the exiles during their twelve years of enforced sojourn in the

woods.[76]

Their forest wanderings were productive of many stirring adventures,

the narrative of which occupies a large portion of the original poem,

but we can find space to notice only a few of these.

Following the advice of the sage Vyasa, Arjuna visited the Himalayas

in order to gain the favour of Siva, and to obtain from him certain

most potent celestial weapons for the destruction of the Kauravas,

of whom the Pandava heroes seem, notwithstanding their own wonderful

fighting qualities, to have had a wholesome dread. Having arrived upon

the sacred mountains, Arjuna went through a course of austerities “with

arms upraised, leaning upon nothing and standing on the tips of his

toes.” For food he at first had withered leaves, but eventually he

fed on air alone. Such was the fervour of his penances that the earth

around him began to smoke, and the alarmed Rishis came in a body to

Siva, and asked him to interfere. The chief of all the gods sent them

away with comforting assurances and, having assumed the appearance of a

_Kiráta_, or low-class hunter, came upon Arjuna and provoked him to an

encounter. The battle was fierce, culminating in a desperate personal

struggle; but where one of the combatants was the Supreme Being the

issue could not be doubtful, and Arjuna fell smitten senseless by the

god. He soon recovered consciousness, and “mentally prostrating himself

before the gracious god of gods, and making a clay image of that

deity, he worshipped it with offerings of floral garlands.”[77] To his

surprise he found the garland he had offered to the clay image adorning

the head of his victorious enemy, the _Kiráta_, who thus revealed

himself to the much-relieved son of Pandu. Arjuna prostrated himself

before the deity, who expressed his approval of his worshipper, and

presently bestowed upon him the gift of a terrible celestial weapon,

called the Pácupata, with instructions in regard to the appropriate

_mantras_ or spells to be used with it. At that moment the whole earth,

with its mountains, plains, and rivers, trembled with excitement, a

terrible hurricane expressed the concern of nature in the important

event, and the “terrible weapon in its embodied form” stood by the

side of Arjuna ready to obey his behests. When Siva had vanished from

sight, the guardians of the four regions (_lokapalah_) Kuvera, Varuna,

Yama, and Indra appeared in great splendour upon the mountain top, and

presented Arjuna with other celestial weapons; after which he was

carried in a wondrous car to the heaven of his real father, the god

Indra. It was a glorious and delightful region, lighted with its own

inherent brilliancy, adorned with flowers of every season, fanned by

fragrant breezes and resounding with celestial music. Here there were

bands of lovely Apsaras and Gandharvas, who gladdened all hearts with

their ravishing songs and dances. It was a region for the virtuous

alone, and not for those “who had turned their back on the field of

battle.”

In this delightful place Arjuna passed five years of his life, treated

with the highest honour and consideration, learning the use of the

various celestial weapons with which he was eventually to overthrow

those redoubtable champions, Kripa and Drona, Bhisma and Karna. Nor

were lighter studies neglected. Arjuna, under a competent instructor,

became proficient in the arts of music and dancing.

That he might be made “to taste the joys of heaven,” properly, the

lovely Apsara,[78] Urvasi, of wide hips, crisp soft hair, beautiful

eyes and full bosom, was specially commanded to make herself agreeable

to Arjuna. Her sensual beauty, described in some detail by the poet,

failed, however, to subdue the hero, who met her amatory advances with

a somewhat exaggerated respect, which so enraged the fair temptress

that she cursed him, saying: “Since thou disregardest a woman come

to thy mansion at the command of thy father and of her own motion--a

woman, besides, who is pierced by the shafts of Kama,--therefore, O

Partha, thou shalt have to pass thy time among females, unregarded, and

as a dancer and destitute of manhood.”

While Arjuna was in the heaven of Indra, King Yudhisthira passed some

time in the forest of Kamyaka, in company with his three younger

brothers and Draupadi, attended by his family priest, Dhaumya, and

a number of faithful Brahmans. Here he learned, from an illustrious

Rishi, Vrihadaçwa, “the science of dice in its entirety,” ignorance

of which _science_ had cost him so dear. After a while the party set

out on a pilgrimage to visit and bathe in those _tirthas_, or sacred

waters, which abound all over India to this day. Each _tirtha_ is

famous for some event in the history of the gods or the saints of the

lands, and the water of each one has a virtue of its own. A dip in one

cleanses the bather from all his sins, a dip in another confers upon

him the merit of having bestowed a thousand kine upon the Brahmans, or,

perhaps, that of having performed a horse-sacrifice. By a plunge in a

third _tirtha_ the pilgrim acquires the power of disappearance at will,

or some other coveted power; while ablution in the water of a fourth

places the heaven of Indra, or of some other god, within his reach.

It is evident that by making a round of these _tirthas_ a man might

acquire superhuman power and the highest felicity in this and a future

life.

Journeying leisurely from _tirtha_ to _tirtha_, from the Punjab to the

Southern Sea, under the guidance of the sage Lomaça, King Yudhisthira,

with the others, pleasantly acquired an enormous store of merits of

various kinds. But, anxious for reunion with Arjuna, they wended

their way back to the North, visiting the _tirthas_ on their route,

till they found themselves in the Himalayas. Pushing into the sacred

solitude of these giant mountains they met with many adventures, in

which Bhima’s son, Ghatotkacha, was very helpful to them. At last,

from a lofty summit, these fortunate travellers got a glimpse of the

abode of Kuvera, the god of wealth, “adorned with golden and crystal

palaces, surrounded on all sides by golden walls having the splendour

of all gems, furnished with gardens all around, higher than a mountain

peak, beautiful with ramparts and towers, and adorned with doorways

and gates and rows of pennons. And the abode was graced with dallying

damsels dancing around, and also with pennons wafted by the breeze....

And gladdening all creatures, there was blowing a breeze, carrying

all perfumes, and of balmy feel. And there were various beautiful and

wonderful trees of diverse hues, resounding with diverse dulcet notes.”

Kuvera came out to meet the Pandavas, and after some excellent advice

to Yudhisthira, in which he pointed out to the king that success in

human affairs depended upon “patience, ability (appropriate), time

and place and prowess,” requested them to retire to a somewhat less

elevated position on the mountains, and there await the return of their

brother. And it came to pass that one day, while they were thinking of

Arjuna, a blazing chariot driven by Indra’s charioteer, Matali, filled

the sky with its brilliancy and, stopping near them, their long-absent

brother descended from it, in a resplendent form, adorned with a diadem

and celestial garlands. He paid his respects, in due form, first to the

family priest and then to Bhima; after that he received the salutations

of his younger brothers; he next cheered his beloved Krishná by his

presence, and finally stood, in an attitude of humility, before the

king. The Pandavas worshipped Matali as if he were Indra himself, and

then “duly inquired of him after the health of all the gods.” At dawn

next day Indra himself, attended by hosts of Gandharvas and Apsaras,

visited the Pandavas and, having received their adoration, and having

assured Yudhisthira that he would yet rule the earth, desired him to

go back to Kamyaka, whereupon the Pandavas, of course, commenced their

return journey.

Arjuna, restored to the companionship of his brothers, related to them

some of his adventures during the five years of his absence, and dwelt

in some detail upon the successful destruction of certain Danavas,

named Nivata-Kavachas, which he had carried out single-handed. These

were ancient and powerful enemies of Indra, dwellers in the womb of

the ocean, and numbering thirty millions.[79] Against these puissant

demons Arjuna was sent in Indra’s chariot, driven by Matali; and, after

prodigies of valour and the most marvellous performances with the

celestial weapons which he had received from the gods, he completely

overthrew them and destroyed their wonderful aërial city, Hiranyapura.

Shortly after these events Krishna came on a visit to his friends,

and they were also joined by the sage Markandeya, who lightened the

tedium of their wanderings with interesting narratives of past events,

and profitable discourses on important religious and philosophical

subjects. How competent he was for such a task will be readily

admitted, when we learn from himself that he, and he alone, of the race

of men or created beings, was privileged to see the entire universe run

its cycle of changes through the four appointed _Yugas_ or ages; to

watch it undergo gradual degeneracy and decay; and, finally, to witness

its total destruction by fire,--with all animated beings, even gods

and demons,--only to be recreated again in order to run its appointed

course through the ages once more.[80]

Markandeya relates to the Pandavas the whole story of the “Ramayana”

and many another legend of the olden time. Let me here reproduce his

story of the _flood_, as it has an interest not confined to India or

Hindus, and also his explanation of the doctrine of _Karma_, of which

we are beginning to hear so much in these days.

_Markandeya’s Account of the Universal Deluge._--There was once a

powerful and great Rishi, named Manu, who “was equal unto Brahma in

glory.” For ten thousand years he practised the severest austerities

in the forest, standing on one leg with uplifted hand and bowed head.

One day as he was undergoing his self-inflicted penance, with matted

locks and dripping garments, a little fish, approaching the bank

of the stream near which the Rishi stood, entreated his protection

against the cruel voracity of the bigger fishes; “for,” said the little

suppliant, “this fixed custom is well established among us, that the

strong fish always prey upon the weak ones.” The sage, touched with

compassion, took the little fish out of the river, and put it for

safety into an earthen vessel of water, and tended it carefully. In

its new home it grew apace and, at its own request, was removed to a

tank. Here its dimensions increased so wonderfully that “although the

tank was two _yojanas_ in length and one _yojana_ in width,” there was

not sufficient room in it for the fish, who again appealed to Manu,

asking him to place it in the Ganges, “the favourite spouse of the

ocean.” Gigantic as the fish was, the wonderful Rishi put it into the

river with his own hands; but the Ganges itself was too small for this

monster of the waters, and the Muni carried it to the sea-shore and

consigned it to the bosom of the mighty ocean.